


Since We've No Place to Go

by LesMisgayrables



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, F/F, M/M, irish!Courfeyrac
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2013-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-05 04:12:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1089483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LesMisgayrables/pseuds/LesMisgayrables
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras and Grantaire spend Christmas Eve together. They cuddle, because that's what mushy Enjolras likes to do. Their Christmas morning doesn't end up being what they planned, though; which, rude.<br/>This is fluff with absolutely no plot whatsoever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Since We've No Place to Go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sinna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinna/gifts).



> This is my gift to Sinna, who you can find at www.sinnaonthebarricade.tumblr.com/  
> I hope you like it! It's a bit short and not brilliant at all (I'm terrible at writing, I apologize), but hopefully, the pointless fluff will make up for it.  
> The title is shamelessly ripped off my favorite Christmas song: Let It Snow.

It had been Enjolras’s idea to spend Christmas together. _Alone_ together. They’d spent their first Christmas as a couple together, of course, but also with everyone else. Enjolras and Combeferre’s apartment had been filled with decorations, sounds and seasonal aromas you only get by hosting for fourteen people. This time, however, fourteen months into their relationship, Enjolras was comfortable enough to suggest a more private holiday. Grantaire had nearly exploded with happiness when he asked to spend Christmas Eve and the following day in Grantaire’s apartment instead of his own.

 

Twas the night before Christmas when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse – well, Enjolras was slurping his milky tea, hands around the warm mug, with Grantaire’s right hand caressing his shoulder. They were seated on the squishy couch in front of the fireplace, watching the fire crackle – through the laptop screen, of course. Thank god for YouTube and weird people who record fireplaces. Enjolras had his knees drawn up to his chest and rested his head on Grantaire’s arm, while the other man breathed in and out rhythmically. There were dirty plates and wine glasses in the sink, food to be put away, and wrapping paper to be thrown out, but neither of them could bring themselves to care.

“This is the best Christmas Eve I’ve ever had,” Enjolras said softly, not wanting to disturb the quiet. Grantaire kissed his curls lovingly.

“Ditto.”

“The food was delicious.”

“Thank you.”

“I loved your present.”

“And I loved yours,” smiled Grantaire. Enjolras nudged him with his head.

“I’m glad. I wasn’t sure if it was the right choice. You didn’t really need it.”

“The beautiful is just as useful as the useful.” After a moment, he added, “Perhaps more so.”

Enjolras turned his head this time, and just looked at him gaze at the laptop screen. “I love you.”

Grantaire kissed him and let his lips linger. “And I you,” he murmured when he pulled back.

“I love you,” repeated the blond. “I love you. I love you.” He placed his mug next to the laptop, on the coffee table, and cradled Grantaire’s face in his hands with extreme care. “I love you, R.”

Grantaire let his face be nuzzled, even though he was feeling slightly giddy and warm all over. “Well, this is new. I like you like this. Was it the ham?”

“I just love you.”

“Mum always liked to say that thing about food being the way to a man’s heart, but I never knew it was so true.”

“That’s not even how it goes,” Enjolras chuckled as he rested his forehead against the other’s.

“I’m paraphrasing.”

“I love you.”

“You’ve said,” Grantaire smiled brightly.

“We should go visit your mum.”

“Yeah, she’s been pestering me about it. We could fly over sometime next year.”

“No plan-making now. Let’s kiss. And snuggle.” So they did for what could’ve maybe been a long while, sweetly, gently, softly, slowly, warmly, adoring. They broke away gradually.

Grantaire broke the comfortable silence. “You taste like wine and the fireplace video is over.”

“Replay it. Replay, replay, replay,” responded Enjolras with a grin. “It already feels cold without it.”

“I know, it’s weird,” he replied, but instead started typing into the search bar, “but I know something else that will get you warmed up.”

“That line hasn’t worked before and it won’t work this time,” Enjolras said. Grantaire laughed.

“No, not that; although it _would_ get you warm. I mean dancing,” he said as he clicked a video. “Let’s dance.” He stood up and offered Enjolras a hand with a grin. The other let his head fall back onto the couch and closed his eyes.

“I’m too full, tired and uncoordinated for dancing.”

“Well, I didn’t say we would dance salsa, did I? Come on.”

“What’s that song, anyways?”

“A Christmas song we can dance to, of course.”

“That didn’t answer my question,” Enjolras said ruefully, but took Grantaire’s hand and let himself be pulled up. He primly placed his right hand on the place where neck meets shoulder, and sought Grantaire’s right hand with his left, only to tangle their fingers together and lift them close to their joined bodies.

They started swaying in time to the music. Grantaire laughed under his breath. “For someone who didn’t want to dance, you certainly seem enthusiastic now.”

“I only just remembered that I like to dance with you. Plus, I’m kinda cold and you’re very warm.”

“I’m warm because you love me.”

“What a sap. And that’s Frank Sinatra playing.”

“Correct. _Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas_ , as sung by my contender, Frank Sinatra.”

“You know I wouldn’t leave you for Frank, R.”

“You would if he were alive,” Grantaire kissed his nose. “I’d be devastated. He’s so smooth, I wouldn’t even resent him.”

“I can get you a fedora anywhere, babe. I bet it looks better on you.”

“You just called me babe, sugar.”

“Looks like I just did, my darlingest,” he started nosing at his partner’s neck, peppering light kisses whenever he felt like it. Both men closed their eyes and continued swaying gently, enjoying their shared warmth, the slow, sweet music and Frank Sinatra’s singing.

When the song ended, Enjolras quickly clicked replay before burying back into Grantaire’s arms. They rested their foreheads together for the millionth time that day.

“You’re being very mushy today,” Grantaire murmured. “I’m not questioning it, just pointing it out.”

“I told you, this is the best Christmas Eve I’ve ever had. I’m very happy right now.”

“Even without Ferre and Courf? You’ve been spending your holidays with them since –”

“Let’s not bring other people up right now,” said Enjolras, “screw them. I like this feeling. Being alone with you.” He breathed in and out. “R, I love you.”

“One day, in the far and distant future, I won’t feel like this every time you say that.”

Enjolras smiled. “I _adore_ you.”

“Stop it,” Grantaire giggled. He stopped swaying them and instead hugged the shorter man close, “you massive, mushy, corny angel.”

“ _Angel_. There it goes again. _Angel_. Don’t call me that!” Enjolras whined. “It sounds ridiculous.”

“You have to admit the pun is cool, _Enj_.”

“Did you call me Enj, or ‘Ange’?”

“I guess we’ll never know.” Enjolras sighed and Grantaire giggled again as he started dancing again. “That’s another thing we have in common: both our names make for excellent puns in French.”

Enjolras snorted this time. “What are we gonna do when the song ends this time? Replay?”

“Um, if you want to? There are other songs, if you want to keep dancing. Or what do you want? I’ll go with it.”

“I want to go to bed,” he raised his head from Grantaire’s neck and searched his eyes. Grantaire stared right back.

“To _bed_ bed, or _bed_ bed?”

“ _Bed_ bed.”

“Hmm, okay,” Grantaire’s right hand wandered from its place at Enjolras’s waist to his hip, and toyed with the hem of his wool jumper. “I should cook for you more often.”

“No need,” Enjolras chuckled. “I know we haven’t done anything lately – we haven’t been alone for more than five minutes in a while, and it’s been very busy, and I’m always tired when I come home, and –”

“Hey, hey, I know. I’m not complaining; it was a joke. Believe me, I _know_ we’re never alone anymore, and I know we’re both busy. I’m there, too, remember? It’s fine.”

“I’m just saying, it’s not that I don’t want to,” Enjolras rubbed their cheeks together and kissed a trail from ear to chin, “because I _want_ to. We’re alone and there’s time. So let’s.”

“Move in with me,” whispered Grantaire. Enjolras whimpered in return.

“Yes.”

“I mean, officially; not what we’ve got going on right now, where we have stuff in each other’s flats, but we don’t –”

“Yes, yes; I’ll move in with you. I love you a lot. Merry Christmas. Let’s have sex.”

“I’m so happy right now,” Grantaire laughed with mirth and kissed him soundly.

Enjolras nodded while kissing back and started pulling Grantaire to the bedroom. He pulled away only to say, “let it last. Let’s go slow.”

“This is my favourite Christmas ever.”

 

 

 

Gavroche gave Courfeyrac the spare key so he could unlock the door. He pushed it open, and shook his head at the food and plates left outside overnight.

“R! R!” Gavroche called loudly. There was a thud and a muffled curse from somewhere beyond the small hallway to the bedrooms. “R, where are you?”

Courfeyrac snorted out a laugh, brought all the dishes to the kitchen and started washing them. A door opened and Grantaire walked out of his room as he pulled up his blue pyjama pants and put on a pair of socks. “Um, who’s here?”

“Were you sleeping? It’s almost twelve in the afternoon,” Gavroche told him, offended, “and it’s _Christmas_. Who sleeps in on Christmas?”

“I wasn’t, uh… who brought you, again?”

“Courfeyrac.”

“Of course”

“He’s washing the dishes,” he said cheerfully before sitting down on the couch and looking at the small amount of presents. “That’s all you got for Christmas? No wonder you slept in,” he said smugly.

“Let me say hello to Courf and then we’ll talk about how many presents you got more than me this year, yeah?” Grantaire smiled and ruffled his hair. He walked to the kitchen and glared when Courfeyrac glanced at him and started cackling.

“Sorry, mate,” he said in his heavy Irish accent. “Gavroche insisted. And look, I’m washing yer dishes.”

“I’m not killing you for Gavroche’s sake, but I can’t talk for Enjolras.”

“Oh, woe me,” he replied dryly. “The whole gang is coming, by the way.”

“What? No, no, no. Relocate. Reschedule,” Grantaire spoke quickly. He heard Gavroche get up and walk to his room and bolted right after him, holding him back before he could open the door. “No, Gavroche, don’t go in there. I farted all night long. It stinks.”

Courfeyrac laughed loudly from the kitchen and Gavroche gave him an unimpressed stare. “It can’t possibly stink more than Bahorel’s room,” he said, but when Grantaire pulled him away from the door, he didn’t protest. “Where is Enjolras, anyways? ‘Ponine said you’d spend Christmas togeth – _oh_. Oh, _gross_. Ugh, ew, don’t touch me.” Gavroche got away from Grantaire, much to his and Courfeyrac’s amusement. Enjolras chose that moment to walk out of the room (closing the door behind him). “Don’t get close to me.”

Enjolras looked bemused. “What did I do?”

“ _Grantaire_.”

“Oh,” he blushed beet red and looked at Grantaire, who was chortling silently, but his blush was also undeniable. “Um… merry Christmas, Gavroche.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Merry Christmas!” Courfeyrac walked out of the kitchen, drying his hands with a towel. Enjolras glared at him and said nothing back. “Grantaire told me you might be a little bit displeased with me – pardon the interruption, by the way – so I brought presents and washed yer dishes.”

Enjolras walked to Grantaire, took his hand, kissed his cheek once… twice… and then decided he really didn’t want to be away from him, so he kissed him properly and breathed out happily when Grantaire responded in kind.

“Bloody hell,” Gavroche grimaced from his place and looked away.

“Ye,” Courfeyrac agreed and turned to the kitchen once more. The couple chose to ignore them this time, for a while, at least, until someone knocked on the door. They broke away with a whine and a nasty kissing sound that made Gavroche cringe. Courfeyrac padded to the entrance and opened the door.

“Hello again, Jehan!” he greeted gleefully. “We were just being appreciated by Enjolras and Grantaire!”

“Hey, guys!” Jehan pushed Courfeyrac away and hugged the sad couple. “We missed you so much yesterday, it wasn’t the same. We almost didn’t know what to do.”

“Happy Christmas, Jehan,” said Enjolras.

“Happy Christmas! Sorry for the cockblocking! Courf texted me.”

“Great.”

“Actually, I think it was a group message.”

“Ah.” Jehan walked to the living room and sat down on the sofa. Éponine, Cosette and Marius walked in. “Ah,” Enjolras repeated.

“Hello, faggots.”

“Éponine, you know what I said about that word.”

“Chill, Enjolras. Once every ten full moons won’t hurt,” she smiled, but Cosette pinched her arm.

Cosette turned to her brother with a smile. “Happy Christmas, Enj. And you too, R! Must’ve been a nice dinner. You two look like you ate a lot.”

Courf walked out of the kitchen and kissed the back of Marius’s neck in greeting. “Oh yes, they did. If you know what I mean,” he said as he threw himself next to Gavroche on the couch.

“We always know what you mean, Courf.”

“Bahorel, Feuilly and Combeferre are here!” Grantaire redirected the conversation to the trio that was just opening the door.

“Hi. Bossuet, Joly and ‘Chetta are just behind us,” Combeferre grinned. Then he studied Enjolras and Grantaire more closely and grinned wider. “ _Good_ morning.”

“Not really,” Enjolras spoke dryly. “I mean, yes, but no.”

“We don’t all fit in this flat!” Grantaire all but shrieked.

“Sure we do!” Bahorel hugged him.

Feuilly patted Enjolras’s arm before moving on to the couch and immediately starting a conversation with Gavroche.

“We have arrived!” Bossuet called from the doorway. Everyone turned to see him, Joly and Musichetta make their way through the mass of people. They greeted each other warmly.

“Did you all come in the same car, or something?” Grantaire asked, noticing how his flat had filled in less than six minutes.

“We all stayed the night at Combeferre’s,” Feuilly said loudly from the couch, “and decided to crash here to bring you some joy.”

“We were very joyously enjoying our morning without you lot!”

“We carpooled and drove very closely together because we’re a very closely-knit group,” said Joly with a grin. “We tried to get in all at once so you’d get over it more quickly.”

“Is everyone here?” Cosette asked, interrupting all conversations, loud and private alike. “I have an announcement to make!”

Everyone quieted down. Cosette wiped her hands on her jeans excitedly. Grantaire grinned, “Oh, my god.” Enjolras turned to him curiously, but the man only laughed in pure, unabashed joy.

Éponine stood up as well and waved her left hand around, where clear as day, there was a silver ring with a giant sapphire embedded in it. “We’re getting married!”

“How cliché of you,” teased Bahorel. Éponine hit his arm playfully. Gavroche smiled at Cosette.

“Does that mean you’re my sister now, too?”

“I’m so fucking happy right now,” cried the Irishman.“Greatest Christmas present, ey? Eposette, I’m so happy for you. I’m so happy right now –”

“I’m moving in with Grantaire,” Enjolras took the chance to say. Combeferre looked at them and smiled happily. “So I need someone to move with ‘Ferre, because that’s my half of the rent gone.”

“Congratulations,” said Combeferre.

The room felt much livelier, and the couple finally started to relax and enjoy the company. After a few minutes, Joly stood up from his place at Bossuet’s feet. “We need hot chocolate. This calls for a proper celebration,” he said loudly as he walked to the kitchen; Marius followed close behind. Éponine jumped to Grantaire and hugged him tightly.

“I’m so happy for you, ‘Ponine,” he murmured. Enjolras left them alone and chose to talk with his now engaged half sister. “You’re great together.”

“Yeah, well, we’d been talking about it for a few months now. She surprised me, though. I didn’t see it coming.”

Grantaire tightened his hold on her. “Gavroche… you’ll be more likely to win custody, ey?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s good. He’s been spending too much time with Courfeyrac.” Éponine snorted.

“Tell me about it. Sometimes he comes back home with an Irish accent.”

“At least he’s happy.”

“And you’re happy! That with Goldilocks moving in with you,” she grinned. He laughed giddily and let go of her. Marius pressed a mug of hot chocolate to his hand.

“We’ll wash everything, we promise.”

“Thanks, mate.” He moved to open the curtains and blanched at the sight. “Oh, shite, it’s a bloody blizzard outside!”

“Seriously?!”

“Bahorel, careful with the lamp!”

“Feuilly’s the one pushing me!”

“If you break it, you pay for it.”

“It was just starting to snow when we were on our way here!”

“Christmas miracle!”

“Where did Gav go?”

“Is there any ham left?”

“Went outside with Chetta and Bossuet.”

“I want more Swiss Miss!”

“Is the heat on? I’m freezing.”

“Let’s watch Love Actually!”

“Jesus fuck, R’s bedroom reeks of sex.”

“Who said that?”

“What is even going on anymore?”

“Hey,” a low voice said right behind his ear and made him jump. Before he could turn around, slender arms wrapped around his waist. He smiled. “Happy Christmas, R.”

“And you.”

“What do you say we kick them out of here and resume our previous activities?” he joked, but nipped at the brunet’s neck lightly. Grantaire looked pointedly out the window.

“The weather outside is disgusting, their fat gets the flat all cozied up, and none of us has anything more important to do. Let them stay.”

Enjolras and Grantaire smiled at each other happily.

“Is that Gavroche building a snowman? And that’s totally Courfeyrac,” said a horrified Bahorel from his place near the window.

“ _The little demon!_ ” Éponine exclaimed furiously.

“Who?”

“ _Both!_ ”

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, the weather outside is frightful, but the fire is so delightful, and since we've no place to go, let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!  
> Merry Christmas to you, Sinna!  
> Hopefully this wasn't too stupid or badly written.


End file.
